All These Things That I've Done III
by chb76
Summary: He came back to me. I didn't save him, but someone or something else did and I shouldn't really care but I do. It should have been me and I'm trying so hard to feel something, but I don't think I can. I can't remember how.
1. Even The Bad Times Are Bad

A/N: Ah so...I started writing this ages ago but then kind of stopped and when I finally returned everything had been deleted cause I didn't log in for ages - no matter, it wasn't that great anyway, but I couldn't really be bothered any more. But then since season 5 I kind of wanted to tell Sam's side of things, poor baby all that bashing has not made it a good year for him and besides, I always felt like doing a third part to this, will be interesting to see if anyone can be bothered to read it but there you go.

So, if you've been subjected to my rambling nonsense before you should expect the usual warnings, language, misery, angst, chick flicking (often on a humongous scale), no major character death, no slash and most of all NO bashing. So if you're not even a tincy wee bit bi-bro then you might not like it, but then again you might, or you might not like it anyway - but the choice is yours. It might go on a bit though so again if you lack patience or a reasonable attention span then consider yourself forewarned. Hope you enjoy. And thanks for getting this far.

**SPOILERS** for all seasons up to and including Season 5.

Rated T for language

Characters Dean, Sam, Bobby, Castiel maybe others

**All These Things That I've Done III**

Summary:

He came back to me. I have him back. I didn't save him, but someone or something else did and I shouldn't really care but I do. It should have been me and I'm trying so hard to feel something; something like joy or relief or happiness but I don't think I can. I can't remember how.

_**Chapter 1  
**_

**Even The Bad Times Are Bad**,

I have failed my brother for the last time. His blood is drying on my shirt and I can't bring myself to wash it. His body is in the ground now and his soul elsewhere. I tell myself he might be okay, that his soul fought off the dogs and made it beyond their grip into another realm, far from this one, far from the one intended for him but in my heart I know that it's a lie. A lie I tell myself to prevent the insanity from taking hold. The insanity encouraged by screams that I pretend not to recognize, pretend not to hear because just like I know that I will never find peace, I know they are the screams of my own kin. My brother.

I left Bobby to his bottles of liquor, to find his own form of comfort in them and set off to search for my own knowing that there would be none. But it wasn't comfort I needed it was resolution, reversion and return to the status quo or at least a more preferable alternative. An alternative that didn't include my brother burning in Hell while I supposedly continued in his honor, driving his fucking car and wearing his fucking pendant that only ever felt like molten metal on my skin.

The car's always breaking down these days. It's like she's angry with me, blames me for losing her master or maybe she's just grieving. Either way I'm grateful for the car maintenance lessons I was treated to even if I did resent them and their implication at the time. Dean never really had any hope for breaking the deal but I never lost it. Although it wasn't exactly hope more a selfish refusal that Dean would, or could ever leave me alone. It just wasn't going to happen, we were the Winchesters and death just could neither hold or separate us. It was like, I'd read the story and knew the ending but just wasn't sure how we got there. Funny then that the joke was on me, like I'd picked up the wrong book because Dean was always going to die - it was inevitable, there was no escaping a demon deal. Unity told me that and I should have listened just like I should have listened to Ruby. They both had the same lesson for me, that Dean couldn't be saved without something to balance out the scales. A price. A price I would have gladly paid if it hadn't been for the part of me that still couldn't quite stand up to my brother, because it was always him that had to be the damn hero and me the one that got to live. I would have done it but he wouldn't allow it and it's that I can't forgive myself for. Allowing him to take the stand, to make the decision for me, because I was too much of a coward to make it myself and in allowing him the final say, the ship's captain's right, the hero's honor - I failed him. I failed him for the last time.

* * *

There is a darkness inside me during these days where I travel alone that slowly devours what was left behind. Like an open wound left from a dismembered limb, ripped away without consent, it leaves the flesh to rot and blacken, spreading like a cancer until all within me is changed. I fight it with very sunrise but the light hurts my eyes and makes me weary causing every step to drag heavily, pulling me downwards into whatever awaits below. And I would welcome it if it would bring him home, if it would restore him whole, unspoiled and sane. If I could take his place and see him go free. But I know that's not what he wants, what he wanted and I have to remember that. I have to remember what he told me, that I have to keep fighting and I can't go down that road, but I _will_ find another way.

* * *

I had another setback today, another voodoo priest who told me the same as the last one and the last one and the one before that, that there is no way of freeing my brother. Last week I contacted a witch who knew of someone who knew someone else who might be able to help. I talked to her about opening the gate about what I would do if I could, if it was possible for Dean to get out or if I could go in and get him. She thought I was nuts. She laughed at me and walked out and I ran after her and begged her to help me and she just looked at me like I was certifiable and handed me a piece of paper. I have to call them after 8 and I'm so nervous I can't sit still. I have a good feeling about this one, I'm sure that this will be it, that this will be the one because I have to save him I have to, I promised.

* * *

I called but there was no answer so I left a message. I'll call a bit later.

* * *

Bobby just called and I yelled at him cause I was waiting for this dude to call me back. He said that he wanted to meet but I don't have time, why can't he understand that? I have so much to do and every second Dean's getting tortured and having who knows what done to him, I can't waste anymore time. I called the number again but I think I must have mis- dialled. My eyes are sore, probably because I haven't slept much recently, but I haven't time for sleep I have to get him back.

* * *

I'm so pissed, this guy called me back and he was no help at all, said I was crazy and he wouldn't help and I got really mad and yelled at him because he was supposed to be my last hope, my last chance and I told him that he had to help me but in the end he hung up. I called him back and he hung up again and then he must have left it off the hook because when I called him again I got the busy signal. I've decided I'm going to go and open the gate. I'll take as many spells as I can find and all the protection charms that we collected over the years and all the weapons that we own and I'm going in there, I'm going to open the gate and I'm going to find him and get him out.

* * *

I couldn't open it, I tried but I couldn't do it. I tried everything and nothing worked, I just wanted to get inside and then maybe I could have gotten him out but I couldn't even open it. There's nothing left, I've tried everything, every spell, every witch, warlock, every voodoo expert, everything. Except for one thing, one more thing. I promised him I wouldn't. I promised. But I have no choice, I have to. I have to.

* * *

I feel tired. There's nothing left. Nothing. I've been to every crossroads in the area, I've driven miles. I'm so tired. I tried so many and they all just laughed at me. None of them want me. They want him and they won't give him up. I asked for a year, then six months, then six minutes just enough time to tell him how sorry I am, how sorry I am for not saving him before it was too late, before they took him, for not getting him out sooner, for leaving him to be tortured, for not coming for him, for not finding him, for ignoring his screams, his constant screams for me to help him, the screams I hear every single night, my name, he screams out my name for me to help him and I don't and I need to tell him I'm sorry. But they wouldn't, they wouldn't give me a single second so I asked for nothing, I asked for nothing but a trade I told him I didn't want anything just to swap because I thought it was just a trick, salesman tactics like they did with Dean, pretending she didn't want him so she could get him down to a year and I didn't care if it worked, I just wanted to get him out, I didn't care so I told him straight, I told him I didn't want **_anything_**. Anything. And he laughed. He just laughed.

And I don't know what to do. What am I supposed to do?

* * *

I'm supposed to keep going but I don't know if I can. I'm supposed to keep hunting and I do but for how long I don't know. I know I'm sinking, slipping into the shadows and I don't care. I'm falling little by little and I don't care. I'm getting sloppier and more and more reckless and it's going to kill me and I don't care. And I hate myself because I'm wasting everything, throwing away everything he gave me, but I can't pretend, I can't. I'm trying but I can't do it without him. I can't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

* * *

Today I was given a life line, something to reach for just when I'd about given up. We talked and I was drunk as usual and I asked her if she could save him, bring him back and she said no. She says there is no hope for Dean but maybe if I can kill the bitch that took him then maybe just maybe I can find a way to get him back. I can't bring myself to let him go, to give up, to believe Ruby and accept that all I have is revenge now, because I can't I just can't. I'd do anything to get him back, anything and I'll never give up hope of finding him but in the mean time, I can do this for him because I owe him this, I at least owe him this.

* * *

I don't know if what I'm doing is right. Ruby says so but she's a demon and I'm not supposed to trust her and I don't, but I'm saving people. I've saved so many and maybe if I keep saving people maybe it will make up for the people I didn't. The people I failed. Maybe it will bring them back. Maybe it will bring Dean back. I have to keep saving people, I have to, it's the only thing I can do, the only thing keeping me sane, the only thing that makes me feel good and the only thing that helps me forget. It's even better than alcohol because I know that I'm doing something good. Something right. Something noble.

* * *

He came back to me. I have him back. I didn't save him, but someone or something else did and I shouldn't really care but I do. It should have been me and I'm trying so hard to feel something; something like joy or relief or happiness but I don't think I can. I can't remember how.

* * *

To be continued.

_**Coming soon: Chapter 2 **_

_**Waking up is Hard to Do**_

_I thought it would help, thought it would show him how sorry I am, how I don't believe I deserve his forgiveness or anyone's for that matter. But it didn't help. Didn't help at all, in fact it set us back months._


	2. Waking Up is Hard to Do

A/N Ok so I finally got the next one up. I knew I should have waited until I'd at least got a plot before posting the first chapter. But hey. So, sorry for the long wait, but here it is. Warnings for more language than usual. It's not gratuitous though - this particular OFC is a little potty minded.

_**Chapter 2**_

**Waking up is Hard to Do**

_Sam was having one of his bad days. Not that there was ever such thing as a good day anymore but this one had been especially bad. It had started with a particular horrendous nightmare, which made the others look like My Little Pony or something and the vomit that had expelled itself from his body had made him feel high from the fumes. He'd been considering making himself puke **before** going to bed, in order to save himself the trouble when the sixth showing of the sequel to Watch Your Brother be Flayed Alive ripped him from the precious few hours that he'd manged to snatch. Of course sleep didn't really do what it was supposed to anymore in a similar way that alcohol failed to turn his miserable, self loathing, self destructive loser brain into a happy, karaoking, telling-random-strangers-that-you-love-them-and-then-falling-over-in-drunken-hilarity booze-monster. And sleep which was supposed to make you feel rested, didn't anymore and instead subjected you to horror movie after horror movie all with a similar plot and all starring your late brother._

_He'd taken to writing things down in the small hours when he just couldn't face closing his eyes. He would write down memories that popped into his head from out of nowhere, just the small trivial things which meant very little to most but for some reason he felt a compelling need to remember and record so as not to ever forget. It was important for him to remember. The things his father and brother had taught him, their faces and the sound of their voices and the way Dean called him Sammy just to irritate him even though it really didn't anymore and hadn't done for some time. He needed to remember these things - he was terrified of forgetting, forgetting his goal, his purpose, allowing the grief to drag him into oblivion because sometimes when he woke, brain muddled with booze and nightmare remnants, just for a split second he would forget who he was.  
_

_He'd started to remember every anniversary now, for some reason, not just the big ones but the really small mundanes ones that any normal person would have forgotten by now. Like the anniversary of when they started their first prank war_, _the anniversary of when Dean puked on his sneakers after too much cider, the one when they put itching powder in Bobby's pants and the time Dean had to be hosed down in Bobby's back yard so as not to contaminate the house with the stench of bog - the bog he'd fallen into from the height of a fairly tall tree while trying to retrieve a Frisbee. He scribbles harder and faster as the memory makes him cry. It makes him cry because it was a memory he'd used himself once, to shake Dean out of his misery and to bring a smile when they really didn't have anything to smile about. And the memory had changed in his head because he'd always thought that he'd won the game, the game they always played when they couldn't decide who got the crappy job, or who had to take out the trash or who got to stay behind with the wolf girl and he cries some more because he realizes that Dean threw that one too, let him have her just like he saved him the trauma of falling from a great height and having a stream of freezing cold water turned on him._

_He stopped writing, his breath coming out heavy as if he'd been running and he sniffed and wiped the tears so that he could read the memories back to himself and he wasn't all that surprised to see Bobby's name mentioned more than once. Bobby had always been around; he was almost as constant as the car, always coming to their aid whenever they were screwed or just plain screwed up, always telling them what they needed to hear and not always what they wanted. The memories flood him, the painful ones and the joyful ones, the time where they'd sat in that diner with their Dad's friend Rick and eaten cheeseburgers and drunk beer, all the times when Bobby had cooked for them and Dean had always cleared his plate and Sam had snorted in disgust as his brother licked his tongue across the width of the plate slurping with pleasure and Sam had just been grateful for the chance to be a normal family and sit at a table and eat something that didn't come out of a paper bag. There was the time when Bobby had kicked them out of his lounge for squabbling like a couple of brats and they'd had to sit on the step and drink the cheap whiskey that Sam had managed to swipe and the time where Bobby had had to restrain him, prevent him from getting himself scorched while trying to save his brother from a death in flames and then only a short time later used the same arms to hold him back from beating the crap out of that same brother.  
_

_ And when they'd messed everything up beyond belief, when they'd refused to listen, when they'd done what the hell they wanted despite him telling them not to, he was always there to bail them out, to pick them up and fix them and send them on their way and he always forgave them. Always. No matter what the stunt, however stupid or irresponsible, he would always forgive them, even though he would pretend for ages that he was still pissed, rolling his eyes and grumbling and they always knew it was all an act.  
_

_ He wasn't sure if it was the whiskey impairing his judgment or just the crippling loneliness and constant ache for his family that made him crack but he was past caring anyway, past caring that his shaking hands were dialling the number of the one person who he had left in the world, past caring that his breath exited his body in broken wrenching sobs as trembling fingers keyed in the number only to reach Bobby's voice mail and he wasn't really sure if he was relieved or not but he hated that he couldn't speak, hated that the sobs that were forcing their way out of him prevented him from making any coherent contribution_ _and he hated the fact that the harder he tried to speak the harder the sobs came and the more pathetic and wretched they sounded. He threw the phone on the floor defeated and demolished, the alcohol in his system causing him to forget to press the end call button and he buried his face in his arms, propped up on bent knees allowing the sounds of muffled, broken hearted weeping to be permanently sealed on an old man's answer phone._

**

* * *

**

I broke the world today and I feel as if I have just woken up from a prolonged and suffocating nightmare. A nightmare that didn't feel like one at the time, where you did things, said things, felt things that seemed so right at the time, felt so real but now on awakening appear wrong, shameful, confused and horrid and the agonizing, erratic, pounding of your heart tells you that what just happened was very, very bad. I see things clearly now, like a veil has been lifted, the curtain drawn back revealing what I should have seen before, had I chosen to look but it's all too late. I allowed myself to be manipulated, twisted, changed like nothing more than a puppet, my mind switched off to all other possibilities and now in the cold light of day I simply cannot fathom how I could have been so stupid, so misguided, so naive and _so wrong_.

I was wrong about everything, about Lilith, about Ruby, about myself and this disease inside me, about what was right and what was wrong, just everything. My world has literally been turned on it's head. Everything that I thought was true was just a lie, a lie to manipulate me into doing this one thing, this one thing which could destroy everyone and everything. Everyone, **_everyone_** is going to die and I caused it. I caused it all. How do I make amends for that, how do I ever find forgiveness, how the hell do I say sorry?

And yet Dean still came for me. And he didn't kill me, he stayed by my side. He didn't walk away, didn't leave me to face what I'd done alone, when he could have, probably _should_ have run hard and fast and as far from me as he could. But he did what he always does. He stayed.

**

* * *

**

_The skin is stripped from his bones__ for the fifth time today and he's lost count of the days or is it weeks, surely it's months now? He's not even sure how he can still scream because it's been that long. He wonders how long vocal chords last in Hell? Wonders if you ever get used to pain or if the psyche takes over and shuts down your consciousness. He thinks it's unlikely but he can hope. He screams for help again as the tears drench his skin - the skin that's been magically renewed again - and wishes he wouldn't but it's hard to control yourself when you're in more pain then the human brain can imagine or tolerate. Of course you don't have a brain in Hell, or skin for that matter - but somehow that doesn't stop them from flaying you daily. He often wonders how that works. In between the screams and yelps and gasps - he ponders the conundrum of inflicting physical pain on a non physical entity. And then when it all becomes too much he stops thinking and screams, no, **begs** for his brother to help him. And he sobs and cries and screams and begs some more. But he won't give in. He won't become like them. He won't._**  
**

_Sam's eyes flicker open the second sleep releases him, his hands grasping into the darkness, feet kicking desperately against the sheets as the terrified face and gut wrenching cries of his brother fade into the night. The sweat binds the clothes and sheets to his skin, chilling him deep in his blood. The nightmare recedes into the darkness but the memories and sensations remain, leaving him shaking, gasping, trembling, teeth sinking deep into his lip refusing to allow the tears and anguish in his throat to surface. He fights to regain control and just when he feels he's losing he feels her hand brush away the damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, feels the warmth of her breath ease away the chill, the soft whispering of reassurances chasing aw__a__y the horrors of his dreams. _

_She's always here and it feels so wrong but somehow it hurts less. It hurts less when she touches him, when her lips brush his, when her tiny, slender form presses against his, the pain melts away and he can almost forget. And then he hates himself even more. Hates himself for allowing the pain to subside, for allowing the memories of his brother, shredded, torn torso, gargling on his own blood after the screams had given way to shock, to fade into nothing, into the shadows of his mind where they can't haunt him. He tries to cling on to them but they tear at him, burn him from the inside, devouring his being, his essence and sometimes he allows it. He allows the fire to strip away who he is, who he was, to shred away the fabric of his soul, to change him and sometimes it feels better. Sometimes he forgets who he is, forgets that he was someones brother, someones son, sees someone else in the mirror and sometimes it frightens him, sometimes he simply doesn't care. Sometimes he welcomes it.  
_

_"Are you kidding me? I mean seriously? No, no way."_

_"Sam..."_

_"Not gonna happen. Forget about it. Think of something else."_

_"Something else. Like what Sammy? Don't you get it? This is who you are, who you're meant to be..."_

_"It's too far - I mean what we're doing... I'm already breaking his dying wish but that, it's just...no. No way."_

_"Dying wish, huh? Sam if you'd have listened to me in the first place, instead of insisting on finding 'another way', your brother wouldn't have had the need for a dying wish."_

_"Shut up."_

_"If you'd have listened to me, we could have stopped this before it was too late,"_

_"I said shut up."_

_"If, Sammy, you'd have listened to me you wouldn't be waking up in the middle of the night hearing your brother's screams and hating yourself more and more for sitting with your thumb up your ass and doing buttkiss!"_

_The demon tries not to show her surprise at the speed at which Sam has his hand around her throat and her back pushed up against the wall, his face contorted into a vicious snarl. A snarl she might find a little scary if he wasn't so cute._

_"That's it Sammy, use that anger, don't hide it. It's what will get you through this."_

_He releases her with a shove and turns away, fists clenching and unclenching._

_"I can't do that Ruby, not that. Don't ask me to."_

_"Sam, it's already in you, you know that right? It's inside you, it's already a part of you, you can't escape it. So why not give in to it, embrace it, accept it? You don't have to keep torturing yourself. You can do this. You can kill her but you need to listen to me, you __need to trust me. And I know you worry about what he'd do, what he'd say, but he's not here, you are and you need to do what you need to do. We're doing this for him Sam."_

**

* * *

**Since being a young man, Bobby has always been a hoarder. From books to papers to trinkets and more recently - since he figured out how to use one - text and voice messages on his cell phone. He has messages that date back five maybe six years. They're on the whole pretty benign. It's too risky to keep some of the stuff on there. Some of the texts he's sent and received would get him sectioned, but the other stuff, the normal stuff, he likes to keep. Like the one where the knuckleheads called him on his birthday, saying that they had gone and got drunk for him and were now sending him a birthday greeting. He'd wanted to meet up with them but a job needed doing half way across the country and they were tied up with something worse and angry poltergeists wait for no man - or his birthday. The singing they subjected his voice mail to was in no way going to get them on to American Idol but the sentiment had warmed his soul and had made the fractured rib and concussion he'd sustained seem not all that bad.

Of course he's developed a weird morbid need to hold on to the less than pleasant messages too. He's not really sure why, maybe it's as a reminder, a warning not to let history repeat itself, a reminder of what could be lost, of the harsh things the world can throw at you or maybe it's that his own guilt just won't allow him to erase it. He's tried so many times, he finds the message, listens to it finger hovering over the key which would permanently erase the sound of one of _his_ boys sobbing alone, in a motel room who knows where, out of his reach, his grasp. And even though he'd tried to call the kid back, tried to re-establish contact, tried and failed because when it came down to it he didn't want to be found, it doesn't lessen his guilt, because these boys are his responsibility, made so by his own personal vow and he had failed them both. Lost them both and no matter how much his logic tells him that there was little he could have done, he won't allow himself the luxury of erasing that from his phone and from his mind. Because that is _**his**_ penance. He listens, as he always does, once a week and sends out a silent, tearful apology and hopes that one day he can make it up to both of them.**  
**

* * *

_"So, you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"_

_Sam looked up from a book which resembled a doorstep and twitched his eyebrows at the older man sat opposite supping his first coffee of the day._

_"Huh?"_

_Bobby nodded his head towards the bathroom which Sam supposed was some kind of aging hunter code for 'I'm referring to the unstable fuck up in the bathroom' but there was no way that he was going to let on that he understood it. And he wasn't being mean because lets face it Dean was a fuck up, although to be fair, he always had been but even more so since coming back from Hell. And it wasn't like he hadn't tried to get Dean to open up but Dean wasn't telling and Sam just didn't have the energy anymore to go through their usual song and dance routine that, lets face it, had been getting old about two years ago. And anyway, he'd asked him and Dean had told him straight. Wasn't talking about it as per usual and Sam should just get over it. Well this time he would because to be absolutely honest he had more important things on his plate right now and those things didn't include playing 'guess the nightmare' with Bobby Singer._

_"What?"  
_

_"Your brother, y' idjit. You think that maybe he's...."_

_Bobby waggled his head from side to side waiting for Sam to join in with his weird little game.  
_

_Sam sighed wearily._

_"What Bobby?"_

_"You know...**remembering**."_

_Sam continued to feign ignorance because quite frankly he was irritated and bored and needed to get out of the house and do things, things which he couldn't really do with the old man breathing down his neck. He hadn't seen Ruby for a while but he still had a few other contacts, contacts that Bobby probably wouldn't approve of.  
_

_"Remembering **what** Bobby?"_

_"Don't play games with me boy you know damn well what I'm talking about."_

_Sam raised his eyebrows._

_"Oh, well if you mean is he remembering Hell, then yes Bobby, he is. In fact he does. Remember it, that is."_

_"What and you didn't think to mention this small fact."_

_Sam pasted on his genuinely confused face._

_"Why, is there something that maybe you can do for him Bobby? You know of any hypno-therapists who could wipe his memory and make him forget, or maybe you have some sodium pentathol handy so that maybe we could extract the truth from my brother and save us all a boat load of grief?"_

_"How 'bout you knock off the sarcasm boy, it don't suit you!"_

_Sam shrugged in defeat._

_"Look Bobby, I've tried okay? I asked him straight and he told me the truth, that yes he remembers, but no he doesn't want to talk about it. In fact, I think his actual chosen phrase was 'there aren't words'. So unless you possess some magical extraction powers, then I really don't see what there is to do about it. Besides, if he doesn't wanna talk about it then can we really blame him? I'm not sure I would either to be honest. And anyway what the hell is talking about it gong to do? How the hell is sharing gonna help him. Can we undo what happened to him? No. can we change the past? No. So if you ask me I say leave well alone."_

_"What the hell is wrong with you these days Sam? Since when do you ever give up on trying to get Dean to share? Since when did you think __**not** talking about something was the best course of action?"_

_"Hm, I dunno Bobby, maybe since my brother was torn apart screaming in front of my eyes, by a bunch of hungry invisible hounds from Hell, while I was pinned to a wall unable to do anything but scream like a girl for the bastards to stop?"_

_The sarcasm in Sam's voice turned to barely concealed fury and he stood and turned away from the table, took a few paces running his hand through his hair. After a few calming breaths he turned back to the older hunter and faced him down._

_"Look, Bobby I don't have time for this. I got things to do."_

_"What sort of things?"_

_"Just things Bobby!"_

_"Just what is goin' on with you Sam? You just got your brother back - can't you at least take some time to breathe? To just be happy that he's back?"_

_"I am happy Bobby, but that doesn't change anything. I still gotta find Lilith."_

_"I get it, kid, I do. You want revenge, for what she did to your family but..."_

_"This isn't about revenge anymore Bobby. It's bigger than that. She has to be stopped. End of."_

_"I'm not sayin' that she doesn't, what I'm saying is that maybe you should just slow down for a minute. Take a look around you. Take stock of what's important."_

_"Look Bobby, if you want to have a life changing moment then don't let me stop you. Go ahead and enjoy your new found appreciation of life and all it's goodness, but in the meantime - if you don't mind - I'll be trying to save the world."_

_That was the moment Bobby appeared to embrace his anger too, pushing his chair aside and taking a menacing step towards Sam, which increased his own a notch and before he knew it, they were both yelling at each other.  
_

_"Dammit Sam, your brother's in there crying out for **you**__** -** for his **brother** to help him. What happened to you to make you stop caring about him?"_

_"What the hell do you know, huh Bobby? You think I don't care about him? You think I don't have my own nightmares about losing him all over again? You think I'm not..."_

_Sam stopped short, breathing heavily and turned away again, attempting to gain control. It was important to control ones emotions, his father had taught him that as had Dean and he was all about remembering what he'd been taught. Bobby took a breath too, but didn't seem all that bothered about controlling his.  
_

_"Sam, I'm not trying to hurt you, I'm trying to help you. This act you're pulling, it ain't foolin' no one. I know what losing him did to you."_

_Sam turned on him then the anger replacing any other sensation he was experiencing, but anger was okay - he knew that. Anger would protect you. Anger was better than misery, or heart ache or loneliness, anger was the supreme emotion to which no other could compare._

_"Oh really, Bobby. **Do you?**"_

_"Dammit kid we both lost him, not just you."_

_"He's **my** brother Bobby!"_

_"__**And to me he's like a son**!"_

_Sam flinched at Bobby's almost growling rebuke, the anger deserting him leaving him only with shame, guilt, fear and utter sadness. He looked away his jaw tensing, eyes flickering wishing he could feel angry again, wishing he didn't feel so fucking wretched. Wishing he could understand what the hell had happened to his soul and his heart. _

_Bobby deflated and exhaled slowly his tone softening._

_"You **both** are. Sam don't do this, to him or yourself. Don't shut yourself down, son. It only ever ends bad."_

* * *

It's hard to look back at the person I was. I never realized what was happening until it was too late, but I can see it all now. Dean coming back from the dead - it was like waking up from one of those horrid, vivid dreams, that takes you days to shake off. The ones that linger and haunt you and no matter how much you tell yourself that it's over, that it wasn't real, you just can't rid yourself of the feeling it left you with. I couldn't go back to the person I was, no matter how I tried, I couldn't erase the months I'd spent alone, couldn't un-grieve for my brother, couldn't shake off the dream because I never really woke up. Dean was back but I never really believed it. A part of me kept thinking it was all a lie, that as long as Lilith was still around she could take him back whenever she wanted. And a part of me just couldn't let go, couldn't accept that he was back, accept that the nightmare was over, in case it wasn't, in case I was still trapped in the dream but just didn't realize it. In case I lost him again. The thing was, when I did finally wake up, after such a long time living with my senses dulled and blinded, closing off the parts of me that made me human, embracing the monster inside of me, the monster that I'd fed with grief and anger and a lust for revenge, it made the reality I was presented with so much more difficult to face.

* * *

_"I can't Bobby, I can't talk about that."_

_"Why don't you try. He wants to help you, he's just forgotten how. Maybe you can help each other. You're both lost kiddo and if you can't find your way back to each other, then it's all gonna go to shit."_

_"Dude what the hell happened to you? Didn't you do anything but drink whiskey and watch daytime TV while I was south?"_

_"Not really, kid no."_

* * *

We nearly lost Bobby today. It was almost like a jolt of electricity through my system, a reminder of what we had left and what we could lose, yet another wake up call I suppose. I was terrified and I felt like shit at the same time because I wasn't sure if I was more scared for Bobby or for myself. Scared that if we lost Bobby, I would lose what was left of myself, that I wouldn't be able to forgive myself for that because it would have been my fault. Everything that happens as a result of the apocalypse is down to me and I have to try and live with that without letting it cripple me and turn me into a self pitying loser. It's kind of hard though because self pitying loser is what I do best. But if Bobby had died, it would have been because of me, because I released the devil and brought all the scum to the surface, the scum that was spreading across our world and destroying people who couldn't even spell apocalypse let alone recognize that it was happening.

But I think the thing that scared me the most was the thought of losing Dean for good. If Bobby hadn't made it that would have been it. Dean would never be able to forgive me, sure he'd pretend and try just like he's doing now but eventually it would come out how much he hated me, how much I'd screwed everything up and how I'd been responsible for pretty much the destruction of our entire family including Bobby. And then of course I really would have peaked. Lost everything, completely one hundred percent alone with nothing left and it absolutely terrified me and I can't tell anyone cause it makes me sound like the most selfish son of a bitch in the whole world.

But even after everything he went and forgave me and it felt worse. It felt worse. I wanted to tell him, to scream at him to take it all back, to tell me that it wasn't the demon talking, that it was him because when he told me to lose his number it was almost a relief, that finally someone was acknowledging what I'd done, forcing me to face what I'd done instead of ignoring it or pretending that it was okay and even though it hurt more than anything it felt right, like I was getting what I deserved, without being let off the hook and I welcomed it. I accepted it and I didn't question it for one second. But it wasn't true, it wasn't Bobby and I felt a thousand different things from immense overwhelming relief and and gratitude to the worst, crippling self hatred I've ever known because I knew, I _knew, _that I didn't deserve his forgiveness or even a chance to earn it, but the relief, the relief was more powerful and it took over and almost floored me and if I could remember how to cry I probably would have crumbled in a mess on the floor right there in front of them both.

But from Dean I still awaited the tirade. Waited for the anger, the accusations, the yelling, the blows, I waited and waited and I wished for it to come but it never did. What I got instead, was disappointment, that look in his eyes that told of everything I'd done to him, how I'd let him down, how I'd hurt him, betrayed him and how there was nothing, not one thing I could do or say that would make it right and it crushed me and I wished more than anything that he would just hit me. A punch, several punches, a full on beat down would have been so much easier. The body can heal, aches and pains fade, wounds heal, split lip's dry up and scab but when your brother tells you that he no longer trusts you and that what you both had can never be retrieved and you know that it's all because of you and your selfishness and pride and overwhelming need for control, power and revenge and because you just couldn't let go - well, there is no recovery from that. No amount of time can repair or mend and nothing can make it right.

* * *

I tried really hard to move on. I did. I knew it was the right thing to do, just like Bobby had done. When the demon in his meat suit had said those things to Sam, for a second I felt justified. Almost like it was okay to feel the way I was feeling, to admit that I wanted to beat the crap out of my brother, that I wanted to yell at him, to ask him why, after everything we'd seen and done and promised each other he could allow himself to be manipulated like he had. How he could just turn away from me and trust one of the filthy things we hunt instead of his family. I've tried so hard to understand but I can't and I don't. I can't empathize and I don't want to I just feel angry and betrayed and I want to tell him. When Bobby forgave him in the hospital, I was pleased and relieved for Sam, I was, really. But a small part of me felt just the tiniest bit betrayed. Again. A part of me had wanted Bobby to be on my side, to understand how angry I was and to make me feel like I was right, justified and not the lowest piece of scum excuse for a big brother that I feel right now. I hate feeling like this. I hate it and I hate myself for feeling it because I can see what it's doing to him, I see how sorry he is, how the guilt's nearly killing him, how he just wants me to tell him that it's okay, that I'm still his big brother, that I forgive him. And I want to, I do. I just can't. I **_can't._**

* * *

I have to walk away. I have to leave. Leave my brother and the car - the two things I've been able to rely on and call home for so many years. I have to fix this - this mess that I've created and I don't know how but if I even stand a chance and if my brother is ever going to trust me again I have to be able to at least trust myself.

* * *

oooooooooooooooooooooo

She's getting fidgety again. They've all felt particularly loud today. Loud and intrusive and fucking annoying. She turns the volume up and tries to block them out wishing that she could turn THEM down. Turn them right down, right, right down, bit more, bit more... bit more and... **_off_**. Yes turning them off would be preferable. Preferable to on and loud and in her head, **_ALL FUCKING DAY_**. She's run out of whiskey as well which is just awesome. Running out of whiskey means she has to go the store and buy more whiskey which means bumping into others who need whiskey and people who need whiskey tend to be especially loud because they're all so riddled with their mommy and daddy issues and sleep deprivation and they just can't get over that day when Nelson pulled their pants down on stage in front of the whole school, or the fact that people used to laugh at them because they smelled of pee, or brought their packed lunch in a carrier bag. Loud loud loud. Blah Blah Blah. Of course whiskey makes them quiet. Whiskey shuts them up a little, well not totally but kind of muffles them so they're not so intense and itchy and they don't hurt her head so much. That's why her feet are taking her to the scummy bar down the road. She didn't ask them to but they did it anyway, her feet are like that sometimes. Not quite attached to her brain especially when her brain is concentrating on silencing Julia's daily affirmations, or Roger the Todger's weird foot cravings or Mack's unfortunate incident with a transsexual called Phil. It's not that she doesn't understand, it's just that's she wishes they would just shut. The fuck. Up. Just once. For one day. Once.

And she isn't expecting much when she walks in. She'd been in there a zillion times, she didn't even have to tell the bar staff what she wanted - they would always know and it's not like you need to be special to work that out, but what she sees surprises even her and the fact that it surprises her surprises her because she isn't used to being surprised. But - and this is the thing - it does explain the weird dreams she'd been having, freaky impossible to articulate shit which had confused even her and she's generally not used to being confused either. It had scared her a little, because she couldn't write the stuff down, because she didn't know the language for Seriously Fucked Up Shit and then it had just plain pissed her off and she'd smashed a few things which had pissed her off even more and then she'd figured some of it out but now - now she sees him - in the bar, bold as shit, not even having the fucking decency to hide himself from her and that pisses her off as well.

And the moment hits her like a wave. There are few sounds in the room, few people means few sounds and few people and a few whiskeys means even fewer sounds but this - this to her is immense. It's awesome and horrible, agony and sheer joy, misery, hatred, death, fury and elation; it's rapture and it's deliverance, it's terror, horror and salvation and so - so much beauty it steals her breath.

_It's about time_ - she thinks with self satisfied relief. She turns off the music, removes the ear phones and lights a cigarette.

_**To be continued...**_

Sorry to be a bit cryptic but I need a plot or something to keep you interested. This chapter was a frigging nightmare so I really hope that someone liked it. If you did, please feel free to comment - they're always gratefully received ;)


	3. Suspicious Minds

So if anyone's still interested after the ridiculously long wait here it is. Huge apologies for keeping you waiting, it's just really hard to find time lately, but I **_am_** going to finish this dammit. So, hope you enjoy and it was at least a little bit worth the wait.

**_Chapter 3_**

**Suspicious Minds**

I'd never been good at handling bad news, not since I found out that monsters are real, but this time? Well the news was particularly bad so I guess my response was too. When you think that you've hit rock bottom, then suddenly you drop a few more hundred feet it can take it out of you a little. I don't blame Dean, he's probably right about everything, about us staying as far away from each other as possible. I mean on paper it makes perfect sense.

But that doesn't mean I don't have the right to feel like I've had my insides ripped out.

My chosen therapy was pretty predictable I suppose. Copious amounts of alcohol and that other weakness most other members of my gender occasionally fall victim to. Her name was Evelyn and she was by far the best meaningless sex I've ever had. It was almost as if she knew everything about me, every need, desire, craving every mistake every ounce of guilt and shame and regret that I harbored and not only that, but knew exactly what to do about it. It was as if she sensed how much I wanted from her, how much control I needed, how much I needed her silence, and when I needed to hear her voice, where to touch me, when and with the exact amount of pressure and when to let go.

She predicted my every move, her body in sync with mine so perfectly it was scary. And when it was over she didn't say a word, just smiled at me with these incredible green/blue eyes which seemed to be staring right inside me like she knew me, like she'd known me for years and it was so cliché, I felt like I was inside a romance novel. And then she was gone and it was over and I was left with a feeling that something extraordinary had just happened; but not only that, something very, very wrong.

It stayed with me for hours but eventually, gradually, melted away and the memories were replaced with the ones I'd been trying to forget, the ones I'd been using her to forget, the more important ones, like for example the one of the devil impersonating my girlfriend and revealing that he wanted nothing more than to get inside me. Literally. Life. Officially. Sucked.

* * *

Today is a good day. For the first time in a very, very, long time she feels like there's a light at the end of this long and very dark tunnel and maybe she can put a stop to this constant living hell that she's been plagued with and maybe she can start to feel normal again and maybe she can actually get herself one of those **_life_** things that everyone's always talking about.

It had been fun, the connection, connecting, making the connection, always fun but this time much more fun. Lots of fun. Connecting with him, the one, the one she'd been trying to find, always searching never finding always someone else, someone wrong and not right. Just not right. Until now.

Step one; finished and completed, check it off the to do list, done and dusted and time for step two. Step one, make the connection, step two, destroy the scum sucking loser and turn him into a snivelling wreck. Like her. Like she's always been. A wreck. Now it's his turn. Time to take your turn. She'd had her turn and now it's his. His turn and it will be his forever now because she's paid her dues and she's quite frankly had enough. Time for someone else to take over and he would do it so well she's sure. Someone so pretty, so messed up and so wounded, she can only imagine how delicious it will be.

He had been delicious. And lots of fun too, it had been a fun encounter, not even a tiniest waste of her time, even if the connection hadn't been such a roaring fucking success because basically he had a face and a body and an **_ass_** that no girl in her right mind would kick out of bed. Even if there hadn't been more pressing reasons it would still have been one of those nights - that were few and rare as piggy wings - marked in her head as 'worthwhile experience' especially as she isn't getting any younger and it can be hard to get laid when all you can hear is their insecurities, their doubts, their arrogance, their cock sure certainty of success and their delusions of grandeur and exaggerated girth buzzing around in your head like a wasp on speed.

And she can hear him now, buzzing around in her skull although now the distance between them is significant, she can still hear him obsessing and fretting over this dream he'd had. He keeps replaying it over and over and it makes her livid to hear that traitorous bastard's voice seducing him when it should have been her, always should have been her. She's over it now though because now she's all about revenge and stopping him in his tracks and basically pissing all over his party. And of course getting her sanity back.

She exhales slowly, attempting to clear her mind trying to sink deeper into meditation without the constant distractions because she's always found it hard work. It had never come naturally to her because she'd never been a natural. An anomaly apparently, a mistake to be learned from and corrected, an abomination, just something to be thrown aside and it shouldn't be like this, should be easy, like the others, the special ones, the ones who he'd preferred, the ones he'd got right, the ones who didn't even need to try. Not like her. She needs to give it everything, all she's got, all of her energy and focus and blood and fury but she knows that it will be worth it. Just to be free again. Free of the constant pain and fear and confusion and the fucking noise and to be finally able to get some sleep.

* * *

It is my official opinion that angels are dumb. I mean except maybe Cas, but then again, after the whole unpleasantness with the quiche and that waitress I'm not so sure.

Zacharia, the ass hat, thinks he needs to teach me a lesson and he does except it's the wrong one. What he doesn't seem to understand is that there is more chance of me dancing for my brother - naked - than me saying yes to becoming a tortilla wrap for some arch douche bag called Michael.

I guess I have to give him credit though. However dumb he may be he still managed to get into my head and play me a high def, 3D version of my worst nightmare. The only difference being there was no waking up. There was no waking up because this was real, my little brother stood in front of me, but not Sam anymore, not Sammy, not my baby brother who I carried out of our home, who's bleeding and broken body I held and willed to continue breathing, who I died for, who I went to hell for, who tried so hard to save me and who cried in my arms when he finally realized he couldn't.

Not him. Not my stubborn, bullheaded, overgrown, whiny and courageous to the point of insane pain in the ass little brother who'd been my everything for so long. Not him, but something else. Gone, taken away and replaced by a monster, something evil and inhuman and disgusting, wearing my brother's skin, his face, his eyes, using his lips to spout filth and lies and nothing I could do to save him or to bring him back.

I felt everything come crashing down, as if there was nothing left, as if everything I'd fought for was gone, everything I'd fought to protect had been destroyed and everything I'd fought to prevent had unfolded right before me and I let Lucifer - the devil - see me cry because there was nothing left and I couldn't fight and I wanted more than anything to take back everything I'd done and said that had gotten us here.

And when that second chance came I didn't need any more time to consider. I called my brother, my family, the only person who I needed to keep me human, and who needed me for the same, and I called him home.

* * *

This time around there's no forgetting or ignoring my mistakes, no get out, not let off and no reprieve from the constant accusation and rebuke that the world throws at me daily. Every now and then when Cas makes his rapidly-becoming-predictable-and-dull Random Appearance, spouts his usual 'cryptic' crap which a four year old could figure out and gives us the update on the ever fucking present apocalypse, I'm reminded of my recent world class fuck up of letting out the frigging devil.

And then there's Dean, a living, breathing reminder of what I failed to do, of what an angel had to do because I was too busy playing McUseless. And of course there's the jokes, the jibes, the throwaway comments - the things he says that always make me wonder if he's trying to make me feel better with his weird brand of humor, or if he's just expressing his own resentment of how the brother he sold his soul for went and repaid him by trusting a demon whore over him. It's a tricky one because I'm never sure how I'm supposed to react. I'm never certain whether I'm supposed to laugh, shrug, wince, smirk or pull the kicked puppy. I can do all of those things of course it's just knowing which one. Because it seems after all this time I've lost the ability to read my brother.

The first couple of days had been okay of course. We were both just glad to be back with each other I think, but looking back even then there had been a sort of awkwardness, like we were both trying too hard not to upset each other, not to ruin things, like one wrong word could set us back to where we were. And then gradually things started to change. It began with concealed insults and loaded comments that I was pretty sure were aimed at me and then it became more blatant, more brutal like he didn't even care if he offended me. And I kept telling myself that it would be alright, that Dean was taking time to adjust, that it would take a while before he trusted me again, before he could forgive me, before he could look at me and not feel angry or hurt or betrayed and I kept promising myself that it wouldn't be forever that I just had to suck it up, that I'd brought it on myself and I deserved everything he threw at me.

I bit my lip and turned the other cheek and absorbed every barb, every remark and I tried so hard not to feel affronted. I did after all deserve it. I _**had**_ brought it on myself and I couldn't blame Dean one bit.

And then somehow it all came to a head. It was Castiel's fault really, he kind of gave me the nudge, made me realize that we couldn't carry on like this, that were were repeating old patterns and that just because I'd made the most humongous screw up in human history, it didn't give Dean the right to behave like an ass. Personally I thought Dean had every right to behave like an ass but how do you argue with an angel of the Lord?

* * *

Castiel appeared at Sam's side, as normal, without warning or invitation. Dean had pulled up alongside a burger van announcing that if he didn't get some meat soon he would have no other choice but to start gnawing on his brother's leg. Sam had rolled his eyes in mock disgust trying to hide the relief that there appeared to be a respite from the hideous atmosphere that had been following them around for the past week. They had been travelling in silence after completing their third argument of the day although it hadn't been so much of an argument as Dean telling Sam what their next course of action would be, Sam disagreeing and Dean telling Sam that he could either like it or lump it. Sam had chosen the latter and had put on the mother of all sulks, a sulk to end all sulks in fact which had succeeded in pissing his older brother off in classic Sam Winchester style.

Sam regarded the suddenly and unexpectedly present angel with a raised eyebrow, but other than that, really couldn't be bothered to act surprised as the winged entity frowned 'pensively' out of the window.

"Dean is behaving like a dick-butt."

"A what?"

"A dick-butt."

"Oh."

"You need to put a stop it or..."

"Or what? **_You_** will?"

Castiel shot Sam his Pissed Angel face, wiping the sarcastic smirk off his features, but to be fair The Pissed Angel Face wasn't all that different from the 'pensive' frown face, unless of course you knew him really well and Sam could just about make out the subtlety but only just.

"I am trying to help you Sam. You believe you are paying your dues, but you are mistaken."

"So.. what? What'm I supposed to do? Dean's pissed at me and who can blame him?"

"No one. He should be..._pissed..._ at you."

Sam narrowed his eyes and gazed out the side window.

"Gee, thanks for your support Cas."

"I am not suggesting that mistakes weren't made. But you are not the only one at fault Sam. We all played a part in starting the apocalypse."

"Yeah, I get that, it's just that I had the starring role right? Cas, look; I get what you're tryin' to do here..."

"No. You do not. I am not attempting to make you feel better, Sam, I am trying to prevent you from repeating old mistakes. The mistakes that got you here in the first place."

"So... what are you suggesting I do? Square up to Dean and tell him to knock it off? I just can't see..."

"Yes."

"No, see, all that's gonna do is piss him off."

"Well then maybe you'll just have to risk _pissing him off_. You need to be honest with each other. Tell him exactly how you feel."

"Yeah, see, Dean hates that. Besides when did you go all Doctor Phil, huh Cas?"

"I do not understand, what is Doctor Phil?"

So I did. Not right away of course. We had this weird case where I saved Dean's ass from this pagan god that looked like Paris Hilton and then we had it out. It wasn't pretty but I think it helped. I just wanted him to realize where I'd been coming from. That all I ever wanted was to have control over my life. I never really felt like I did, ever since I was a kid and Dean going to Hell just kind of exaggerated every feeling of helplessness I'd ever had. I mean I tried everything, pulled out all the stops but in the end it made no difference, Dean was always destined to go to Hell and there was nothing that I could do about it, like I was this puppet being jerked around and whatever I did the ending would always be the same. Because when it came down to it - I couldn't even save my own brother.

It wasn't Dean's fault and I never meant it to sound like it was, it was just - him telling me what to do all the time, bossing me around, always having the final word - and yeah, I know it wasn't all the time, I guess it just felt like it was, probably because I was so sensitive about it and had all these issues from my past about it. I'm so aware and in tune with all that crap these days I figure I missed my calling, I should have been a shrink or something.

Anyway, I guess I was even more aware of it after he came back. I'd been hunting alone for so long, doing my own thing, blocking out the fact that I once had a family to look out for me and then Dean, pulling his big brother card - I guess brought it all back, brought back all the crap I put up with as a kid. All those times when I wanted to hang out with friends or get more involved with school and right up to going to college; every time he tried to control or I guess **_protect_** me, it just brought it all back to the surface.

And Ruby? Well I guess she was the antidote to all that. The one person who I felt listened, who gave me control, or at least the illusion of it. And I know it was all bullshit, that with Ruby I was never really in control, she was just another puppet master jerking me around. I made my own choices and I can only blame myself, but I was stupid enough to believe the lie she spun that I was in charge, that I was calling the shots when really it was her all along. And Dean? I guess all he ever did was try to protect me, in his own messed up way, but my head was so screwed up back then I just didn't see it. I know now, I wasn't trying to get away from Dean, it was more what he represented. I don't think I really explained it all that well to him and maybe one day I will. Right now it's all a little raw and a little too hard.

It's like one step forward and two steps back. He's trying and I'm trying but we just don't seem to be gelling. It hurts like hell because after everything, after all the crap, after trying to be my own person and doing my own thing and being in control of my own destiny, all I really want is my big brother back.

I recently confessed to him that when we met after our time apart and he brought out Ruby's knife that for a nano second, just a brief fleeting moment I believed he intended to use it on me. I thought it would help, thought it would show him how sorry I am, how I don't believe I deserve his forgiveness or anyone's for that matter. But it didn't help. Didn't help at all, in fact it set us back months. He just looked at me, his eyes bulging with fury, agony and disappointment and he just left. Walked out and I thought that I was alone again. I couldn't even hide my surprise and relief when he returned and that seemed to anger him even more.

_"I'm not the one who walks out, Sam."_

And there was no humor in his voice this time, no sarcasm or snark, just pure, raw pain, in his eyes and his voice and in his very fucking being and this time I knew precisely how I was to react_._

_"I'm sorry."_

_"Stop saying that Sam, please, just stop."_

I closed my eyes and turned away from him in a completely pointless attempt to sleep and wondered if my brother would ever forgive me.

* * *

"Relax it's me."

"**_Me_**? I'm gonna need a little more than that, my friend."

"You're a douche."

The eyes flashed black and a sarcastic grin crept across his lips, head nodding in acceptance of the coded insult that had always sufficed.

"And what do you want this time my little honey bun?"

"You know what I want."

The gaze was menacing, fierce, piercing, only betrayed by the soft brown bangs caressing the forehead.

"Seriously babe. I would have much preferred to do business while looking at your pretty pretty face than to have to converse with...this."

He waved his hand around mouth twitching in disgust and contempt.

"Yeah well, I couldn't resist the irony of using this pretty pretty boy to create the circumstances that will eventually cause his own demise."

"Is that irony? I dunno if it is, I think it's just bad luck?"

"Shut up. Of course it's _irony_. What, are you an idiot?"

The demon regarded the statuesque figure stood before him with bemusement. His head cocked to one side, his eyes traced up and down shaking his head in mock sadness.

"You've changed, my dear. You never used to be into using people to create the circumstances that would eventually cause their own demise."

"Yeah, well, maybe I chose my words badly. When I said 'cause his own demise', I actually meant, turn him into a dribbling, sobbing wreck."

The eyes flickered to black once again, in delight, a wide grin creeping across his face.

"Oh well that's okay then. Do you mind me asking why him?"

"Seriously, you haven't heard? Puppy eyes here is the chosen one."

"Huh?"

"The boy king? Lucy's protégé? Yellow's special little soldier? Do I need to spell it out to you?"

The arrogant sarcasm rapidly switched to abject terror, as he took a step forward, head ducked voice hissing in barely concealed fury.

"Are you freakin' shitting me? Have you any idea what they'll do to me if..."

"Would you relax, I took precautions. They'll never know he was here and you can carry on pretending you're one of Lucy's army and lying your traitorous ass off. Besides do you honestly think that the almighty douche bag wouldn't be able to find him if he really wanted to? If you ask me, Lucy's biding his time for a reason, I hear it's all gonna go down in Detroit some months from now."

He looked around him nervously, voice lowering even more so that it was little more than a whisper.

"Would you quit calling him that. It creeps me out."

He flexed his shoulders, cricking his neck from side to side, his demeanor switching quickly, in the same way ones would if one was not entirely sane.

"You know I gotta say I'm a little disappointed. I was kinda hoping we could have some fun, you know for old times sake?"

"Yeah creepazoid that's exactly why I didn't come dressed as myself. Did you honestly think I'd be stupid enough to take that risk, you low life scum sucking sicko?"

He shook his head sadly.

"Madam, you wound me."

"Look, we both want the same thing here. You gonna help me or not?"

"Evie, have I ever said no to you?"

* * *

_The day Dean tells Sam about his time in Hell should have been a turning point for them both but as it turns out it isn't_.

_The confession does however, stir something in Sam that Sam had thought gone forever. Sam feels his soul and his heart reawaken at the sight of his brother's tears and raw agony and he doesn't particularly like how that feels. It hurts and it scares him because it's been a long time since he allowed himself to feel such similar emotions and Sam suddenly remembers what it means to be a brother. _

_Dean turns to him for the first time_, _and Sam sees the tears streaming down his face, the tears which had previously been hidden, eyes pleading, eyes which he had shielded from Sam but that now are begging him to act. Dean almost never looked at him like that which scares Sam even more and a part of him wants to close his eyes and pretend none of this is happening. But Sam doesn't. Sam's brain has stopped working for the moment, there are no messages being sent to his nerves, no instructions on what to do next so Sam doesn't think and instead his limbs choose to move all on their own with out command or direction. _

_He stands pushing up off the car turning slightly so he's facing Dean head on making it harder for either of them to avoid each other's gaze and Dean flinches, eyes dropping, not to his feet but away from Sam's face, around the level of his torso, just low enough to avoid seeing whatever he's afraid of seeing there. Sam feels his chest tighten, his guts twist and the sight of his brother physically hurts him and it's this he's been afraid of facing, of finding, of reaching for, the reality of what Dean had suffered for him, of what he'd been unable to prevent, what he'd hidden and cowered from, what he'd kept locked up in a box and pushed far out of sight so that he could almost forget that any of it ever happened._

_But Sam's arms aren't listening, Sam's arms haven't forgotten that he's Dean's little brother even if Sam has and they reach out, the right hand grasping Dean's coat and without thinking or deciding or any conscious thought, Sam yanks Dean forward hard, his chest colliding with his own, arms wrapping around Dean's back and shoulders, holding on to him tightly enough so that Dean has nowhere to go. He's surprised at the speed at which Dean's arms mimic his own and disturbed at the how hard he clings to him and Sam thinks to himself that this is one of the few times he can remember them being close - united - since Dean returned. Since his brother came home to him there had been a distance, a distance created by fear and mistrust and the fact that Sam could simply not remember who he was before his brother died. _

_Right now though there is no distance and they cling to each other as if they're all they have, forgetting and ignoring the external, the storm surrounding them, the uncertain future ahead of them. For one moment none of that matters because Sam is Dean's brother and Dean is Sam's and Sam wonders how long it will last, if he can allow it to last, if he has the strength and courage to allow it to endure. He wonders how much he can still remember, if he can still be a source of strength and comfort like he was so long ago when times were simpler and the end of the world wasn't imminent because Dean is clinging to him so desperately, with such trust and hope and vulnerability, like he believes in Sam alone, that Sam's the only one who can save him, but Sam's not all that sure that he can. How can you save someone when you're not even sure you can save yourself, when you don't even know if there's enough for your old self left to save? How can you save another soul when your own is slipping into the shadows?_

_A long time passes before Dean's tears give way to exhaustion and he's so worn out he doesn't protest when Sam settles him into the passenger seat and Sam drives his car with a fury that would have terrified him had he had the energy. Sam is pissed and swears he is going to kill the bitch that did this to his brother, the evil that destroyed the hunter in him, that shattered his will, that broke him, that took him away from his family and tore him apart over and over and made him do things that he could not forgive himself for. He swears that he is going to find Lilith and when he's done making her suffer, making her pay he's going to kill her as slowly as he can._

_They stay at Bobby's and wait for him to return. He'd given them a spare key to use when they needed and Sam thinks this is one of those times. Dean sleeps for a while and Sam paces furiously. When Dean wakes he makes him something to eat and they sit in silence until Sam tells Dean what he's going to do to Lilith when he finds her and how he doesn't have to worry because she's going to pay for what she did to him, to **them**. Dean just looks at him sadly._

_When Bobby finally gets back, Sam tells him everything and Dean, asleep in the other room, is spared the argument between them. The argument about revenge and justice and family and about what's important and what's right and what's not._

_"So you're tellin' me you're brother finally opened up to you and all you wanna do is run off and find Lilith?"_

_"I'd say it's up there on my list of priorities yeah Bobby."_

_"And what about Dean?"_

_"What about him?"_

_"Don't you think maybe he might need you right now?"_

_"What my brother needs is for me to end the bitch that did this to him."_

_"And he told you that did he?"_

_Sam stops and turns away because he doesn't want to hear it or face it. He wants to stay he does, he wants to stay by Dean's side and talk him through the terror and pain but he can't bear to look into his brother's eyes and see the fear and the agony that he knows he will, can't bear to see his brother break under the weight of what had been done to him, because of **him**. Because he'd failed, failed to do what an angel had to do. It would be the end of him, it would be too much to endure and he needs to stay strong, for Dean, so that he can find Lilith and end her for good. _

_As it turns out Dean doesn't want to sit still and talk, he wants to hunt and hunt and then hunt some more. So they do. They hunt none stop for weeks and the distance between them that had been closed by Dean's confession, opens wide once more._

* * *

"Where the hell have you been Sam?"

Sam closes the door behind him entering the room to find his not so slightly pissed off brother pacing the room, eyeballing him in that way that tells him he's in so much shit that his next move could be a matter of life or death. Sam's face is wearing that confused almost hurt look, eyebrows narrow momentarily then shrugs, trying to look oblivious to the fact that big brother is very pissed right now. Pissed and getting pissier.

"I um, went for a walk?"

It sounds like a question to Dean because his voice goes up at the end of the sentence as if he's not entirely sure of his answer and whether his answer is acceptable to Dean. And apparently it isn't.

"A walk huh? Where did you walk to? Connecticut? You've been gone hours, Sam."

Sam can tell by his brother's tone, tight jaw and that glare he uses on him whenever he's in trouble that Dean isn't buying any of this and is about to go from simmering anger to boiling rage in about thirty seconds. He pulls an incredulous face, betraying more confusion, because he genuinely is confused although Dean doesn't seem to read it as confusion, Dean seems to read it as: I Am Lying My Ass Off.

"No, I haven't. I've been like half hour tops."

"Look at your watch Sammy."

Sam frowns again as Dean takes a step closer to him and he's still confused and maybe a little afraid, like that feeling you get when you've forgotten something really important, something that you really should have remembered and for a fleeting second you start to wonder if you're losing your mind. Dean doesn't see that of course, the only thing Dean sees is Lying Little Shit of a Brother.

"No way. I haven't been gone that..." His voice is becoming more and more shrill and he taps in frustration at his watch trying to convince himself that it's the watch that's gone mad not him but his heart is racing all the same because none of this makes any sense to him and he doesn't understand why. Dean apparently does understand fully and knows exactly what is going on judging by the stance and the posture and the fact that his eyes are almost no longer a part of his face, oh and his jaw's popping too, in that way it does when he's trying to control his temper, trying really hard not to smack the person responsible for his rising temper square in the mouth.

"Why don't you cut the crap and tell me where. The hell. _**You've been?**_"

"Dean... I swear, I just.."

"Been for a walk, yeah you said. You think I'm a complete moron Sam? You think..."

"Dean would you just..."

"Just how long d'you think you can keep this up huh Sam? How long do you actually think I'm gonna just sit by and let you screw me over again, huh?"

"Dean, what the hell...?"

Sam shakes his head, feeling desperate and scared and at a complete loss. He looks away, exhaling and runs a hand through his hair and if Dean was one of those body language experts, one of those people who can tell if you're lying just by how your eyebrows flicker or the shape of your mouth then he'd know that his little brother was telling the truth. Unfortunately he isn't one of those people and while he often can tell when people are lying to him, tell when he's about to be screwed, his little brother reading skills aren't exactly what they used to be and this time he gets it wrong. So very wrong.

His voice drops low and his shoulders sag as he realizes he just hasn't got the energy to fight anymore and is surprised to find that he simply doesn't care.

"You know what, save it Sam. I'm done."

Then Dean walks away leaving his hurt and confused brother behind him, racking his brain trying to remember where exactly he had been but no matter how hard he tries to focus, tries to pull out the memory he can't. The memory has gone, it's simply not there and it scares the shit out of Sam.

It happens twice more. The second in the middle of the night. Dean had woken to find an empty bed and stayed awake until his brother returned. When he did he simply climbed into bed ignoring his incensed brother's questions and went to sleep. It had been a confused Sam that following morning, who had been unable to figure out why his brother wasn't speaking to him, why he was so angry. The third and final time Dean figured Sam had slipped out first thing as he'd emerged from the shower to find once again his brother gone. He'd sat miserably on the end of his bed at a loss at what to do, furious, terrified and feeling betrayed all over again. So he simply sat and waited for the door to open, but it never did. He'd been about to call Bobby when his phone had started to vibrate.

"Dean?"

Dean can't see Sam's face but he can hear the terror in his little brother's voice, terror that sends a chill through his bones, wiping out any irritation, suspicion or anger he'd been feeling. The tremors begin in his fingers and find their way to his voice as he gets that feeling in his gut that tells him some Very Bad Shit is about to go down.

"Sammy?"

"Dean, I don't know where I am, I... I'm in some diner and I don't know how I got here, Dean please.. I don't know what to do."

"Sam just calm down okay? I'm gonna come get you. Just ask around, find out where you are and I'll come pick you up."

"Dean you don't understand, I don't remember, I don't, Dean how the hell did I get here?"

"Sammy, it's alright, we'll figure it out okay? Now go ask someone where you are."

It takes Dean about fifteen minutes to reach Sam but feels like about fifteen hours. When he does one of his worst memories revisits him, his little brother, terrified, confused and covered in someone else's blood. He can hardly speak when he approaches the table, the air trapped in his throat as he sees Sam looking up at him, trusting and hopeful and pleading with him to make it all right. He lowers himself into the chair opposite, exhales slowly, carefully observing his younger sibling as Sam's gaze drops to the table, fingers picking at the skin on his thumb, scratching furiously, close to drawing blood only stopping when he feels the gentle and reassuring pressure of his brother's hand on his forearm.

"Hey."

Sam looks up at him, scared and ashamed and for a second a thought flickers through Dean's head, a thought questioning how real this is, how real Sam is and what if this isn't Sam, what if it's not him, what if it's someone, some**_thing_** else, just like last time. He banishes the thought because he's sure the pitiful and desperate eyes he's staring into are those of his brother's, he so sure and he has to be right about this, because if he's wrong, if he can't even recognize Sam anymore, then what hope do either of them have?

"What happened?"

Sam shakes his head eyes lowering a fraction.

"I don't know. Last thing I remember, I went to bed then I wake up here. Apparently I ordered a coffee. But.. it 's too sweet. Too much sugar. Tastes awful. Why, would I do that?"

"Sam take it easy okay? Just, think try to remember..."

"I can't, I can't Dean don't you think I've tried..."

He looks back up at Dean his hand subconsciously reaching across and grabbing hold of his brother's sleeve.

"Alright, alright, take it easy, we'll figure it out..."

"I know what you're thinking. I was possessed right? I mean there's no other explanation is there?"

Dean shakes his head wishing if only it could be that simple. He speaks slowly, in his best patient tone, trying not to sound like he's accusing or judging his brother.

"Sam, you and I can't be possessed. The tattoos?"

"Then... what?"

Dean's eyebrow twitches, it's a subtle movement but Sam doesn't miss it.

"Right, I get it. You don't believe me."

Sam withdraws, pulling his arms back and hiding his hands under the table looking away, his head shaking slightly.

"Sam..."

His head snaps back furiously, switching from kicked spaniel to angry Rottweiler in 0.2 seconds.

"No, that's fine Dean I mean why should you? I'm a liar right? That's what I do."

"Sam. All I'm sayin' is there has to be another explanation. I mean come on bro, this isn't the first time you've done a disappearing act lately. Are you sure there's nothing you're not telling me?"

"Dean, no I swear I..."

Sam scrubs a hand across his face exhaling deeply, trying his best to calm his temper.

"What did you mean anyway, when I have I ever done a disappearing act?"

Dean snorts in derision. Sam sighs slightly defeated

"Okay fine. When have I done a disappearing act _lately_?"

Dean turns away, then back eyebrows raised waiting.

"What?"

"What? Do I really need to remind you?"

Sam shakes his head the confusion so real so genuine Dean begins to question his own judgement, begins to question whether any of this makes any sense, if what had been happening the last few days had really happened or whether he'd imagined it all. He takes a breath and tries to speak as evenly as his cyclonic emotions will allow.

"The other night, when you were out sneakin' around, came back about - I dunno - two thirty in the morning? Refused to answer me? And a couple days earlier, when you were gone hours and insisted you'd been for a walk? All I'm sayin' Sam is that there has to be something you're not tellin' me. I thought we were bein' honest now. No more lies Sammy. I want to trust you but how can I if..."

"Dean I told you, I just took a walk, I guess I must have lost track of time but I swear it wasn't deliberate."

"And the other night?"

"I dunno what to tell y' Dean. I don't remember, I have no idea what you're talkin' about. Wait, is that why you didn't speak to me all day, why you were so pissed?"

Dean says nothing but makes a face that pretty much says 'yes genius, that is why I was so pissed'.

Sam shakes his head, disbelieving but at the same time knowing it must be the truth even if it the events don't exist in his own head and it terrifies him even more.

"I swear Dean - on Mom's grave - I don't remember any of it."

Dean glares at him their eyes locked, for several long seconds Sam trying to convince his brother that he's telling the truth, Dean trying to decide how much he can believe, how much he's prepared to believe and whether he has it in him to make the astonishing leap that maybe Sam is telling the truth.

"I don't remember that and I don't remember how I got here. Please, Dean you have to believe me."

Dean eyeballs his brother for a few more seconds then breathes out heavily and nods.

"Okay Sammy, I believe you."

And only Dean knows that he's lying through his own teeth.

* * *

TBC

Hope it was ok for you - I'd love to hear your thoughts


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